


On the Other Side of the Wall

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Eavesdropping, Ecouteurism, F/M, Loud Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pre-Slash, Requited Unrequited Love, Sex Club, Voyeurism, hints of Gil/Malcolm/Jackie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: Five times Malcolm got off listening to other people orgasm, and one time someone got off listening to him.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	On the Other Side of the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evaagna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evaagna/gifts).



> Happy (slightly early) birthday, Eva!!!! I hope you enjoy it :3

## 1

He lives in a dorm in freshman year. His mother was indignant at the very idea, but school policy dictates that students live in on campus housing for the first year, and so there he is. He does manage to get a private room, however, because the Whitly money still means something even if the name does not. 

His bed is against the wall. So is his desk. He spends more time at the desk, because sleep worries him in a way it hasn’t in years. His mother and sister are used to the muffled screams at all times of the night. His peers are not, and not even the best mouth guard can keep him quiet during the worst nightmares. It’s why he also has a corner room, with his bed against a wall that isn’t shared with any other spaces. Most of his time is spent at the desk, doing work.

Tonight, he isn’t the one making noise. 

It starts soft, a slight creak. Then the moans begin, dulled by the wall but growing in volume. 

Malcolm knows he should put on his headphones and ignore it. His neighbor doesn’t want him to hear, probably assumes he’s asleep this early in the morning. And he’s watched porn before. This should be nothing special. But it _is_. There’s something about being so close, about being in the wrong, that makes his heart beat faster. He hesitantly reaches for his zipper. He’s already half hard and getting harder with each creak of the bed. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” one of them shouts.

He pushes his boxers down.

The bed creaks faster.

Grabbing the lube from his desk drawer, he slicks himself up and eases up to their pace. 

Loud, feminine moans are coming through the wall constantly now. She’s close, _so close_ , and his neighbor must be keeping her on edge. There’s an uptick in the creaking.

His eyes screw shut as it begins to be too much. 

“ _God_ ,” she screams. “Fuck, fuck,” his neighbor chants.

Malcolm bites his hand hard enough to break the skin as he spills over his fist. When his legs stop feeling so loose, he gets up and cleans himself as well he can with a shirt, but the shame doesn’t come off so easy.

## 2

By his second semester, he’s stopped hating himself so much on those nights. His neighbor has girls over almost every other day, and he’s never even tried to be quiet. Maybe Malcolm should have said something. Maybe he should have started using his headphones to ignore it. Instead, he buys himself a second bottle of lube just in case he runs out, and he learns to keep his mouth guard on the desk instead of by his bed. The bite on his hand was a pain to explain last time. 

He knows he’ll miss this when he goes back to the city for their mid semester break, but he needs to go back home. His dorm room has become too isolating. He catches a train back without telling his mother, knowing that she’ll be all over him if she knows he’s back in town, and if he has any say, she won’t. No, the Arroyos gave him a key to their apartment at Christmas, and he intends to use it. 

_Crash here anytime,_ Jackie said. _You don’t have to give us a heads up_.

 _It’s your home, too, kid_ , Gil said. 

Malcolm arrives at their door late and quietly lets himself in. They’ve obviously already gone to bed, so he tiptoes into the guest room with his bag, shoes already by the door. He changes quick and then grabs his toiletries and heads for the bathroom. His mouth is full of foaming mint when he hears it.

A giggle, followed by a moan. 

He stops, his toothbrush still in his mouth, his arm still holding it up. 

There’s something low, rough, but too muffled by the wall. Gil’s voice. 

Malcolm doesn’t dare run the water again. He gets as much of the toothpaste out of his mouth as he can. Can he do this? It feels wrong, but his body doesn’t agree. His cock is already straining against his boxers. 

Jackie moans, happy and satisfied.

He sits on the closed toilet seat and slips a hand beneath the waistband to cup his balls. 

Gil says something, and she laughs.

Malcolm gently tugs on his sack, breathing shallowly. 

It’d be a lie to say he’s never thought about this, about them. At first it was just admiration. They were always _so_ in love with each other, and he couldn’t remember his parents ever being that level of affectionate with each other before his father’s arrest. The Arroyos just meshed better. They were one unit, and they were never short on love. Malcolm basked in it whenever he was with them.

The older he got, the more he started to notice them as people. Jackie was a bombshell. Her hair was long and curly and often piled on top of her head in a way that not only made him think of comfort and home but also left strands free to fall around her face, highlighting her gorgeous smile, her dimples. 

And she smiled at him all the time. 

As did Gil, and his smiles did _something_ to Malcolm, too. They made him wonder what that beard would feel like against his skin. Then Gil would touch him, put a hand on his neck or ruffle his hair, and his thoughts would wander to those hands and how they would feel elsewhere on his body. 

And both of them together? He wanted to be in between them. He wanted Gil to show him how Jackie liked to be touched, wanted to _be_ touched as they smiled at him.

He slowed his visits during the tail end of high school with the excuse that he was preparing for college. He tried to curb his desires.

Now, as he licks a strip across his palm and wraps it around himself, he realizes it was futile. 

There are no creaking beds here, but Gil and Jackie have no clue they have a guest. The older man curses as she whines freely.

Malcolm lifts his shirt and shoves as much of it into his mouth as he can without taking it off. His free hand pinches a nipple. 

“ _Gil_ ,” Jackie wails.

He imagines her hair is loose, curls strewn across the pillows. He thumbs the head of his cock and bites down harder on wet fabric. 

“...fucking beautiful,” Gil says.

Malcolm agrees. Does he have his hands on her breasts? Is he dragging a thumb across her clit? Or is he holding her by the hips as he thrusts into her? He closes his eyes and whimpers into his shirt as he imagines those hands on _his_ hips. 

He streaks his stomach white.

With a quick wipe down, he sneaks back to bed in his toothpaste stained shirt and hopes he can look them in the eye in the morning.

## 3

Eventually he finds the club. He’s been to other clubs before, of course, and he remembers them all fondly for all of the first times he had spread between them. This club, however, is supposed to cater to a wider variety of tastes. He hopes he can find what he’s looking for. It’s been so long. 

There’s a vetting process. They take their privacy and rules very seriously, and he’s happy to pay extra for that comfort. When he gets the all clear, he picks a night to go and marks it on his calendar, intent on not waiting any longer than he has to.

It’s definitely a club for the elite. Everything inside is high end, including the booze and the clothes of the patrons who _are_ wearing clothes. He fits right in in his suit, tailored and sharp. He asks the bartender for guidance over a whiskey, and the man points out a hallway in the back with a smirk.

The hall is studded with rooms, all of which have an occupancy light above the door. He enters the first suite with an empty observation room. 

Immediately there’s a moan. 

He unzips his fly and pulls himself out, rolling a condom on as per club rules. The outer walls must be soundproofed, he realizes, while the walls within the suites are thinner than usual. 

“Fuck, baby,” a man grunts. There’s a slap of skin.

A spank? Their bodies colliding? Malcolm has no idea, and that alone arouses him. He has no idea what position they’re in, either. All he has are the moans and whimpers and wails. His cock twitches in his hand.

“Do that again,” another man demands. His breath hitches a moment later. 

Malcolm rests his head on the wall behind him, the wall that separates him and them. He pictures the scene. The first man, he thinks, must be fucking the second. Maybe the second man is on his back, legs held up by the man above him. He adjusts the fantasy to match the sounds as they come through.

“You like that?” A breathless laugh.

 _I do_ , Malcolm thinks. He holds his hand still and rocks his hips into it as the heat gathers. The wet sound of the condom against his hand mirrors the slick noises from the other room.

“Oh, oh, oh _fuck._ ” 

Malcolm lets out a quiet moan of his own.

“Stroke yourself,” the first man says. It’s less of an order and more of a plea. 

His hips work faster. He bites his lip as he teeters on the edge.

Someone cries out.

Malcolm leans against the wall hard, his legs wobbling, the condom filling, blood in his mouth.

## 4

The FBI sends him out fairly regularly. He still goes to his favorite club, but his times there are few and far between, and he’s not sure how he feels about going to one he hasn’t scoped out. It means he feels worked up, off balance. He can’t date, because he doesn’t have the time or mental energy for it. He can’t go looking for a one night stand, because he can’t help but analyze them and find them wanting. And now he can't go to the club, either. 

His most recent trip has him stationed in the middle of nowhere. Unless he wants to drive an hour every day each way, he has to settle for a motel. 

He picks up his key from the desk and wheels his suitcase down to the door with his number on it. Inside, he spreads out the case files across the dingy bed. He was assigned to it last minute and hasn’t had a chance to read everything yet. 

The walls at the motel are thin, the wallpaper barely holding on. To his left, he can hear what sounds like _Jeopardy!_ on at what must be an ear-splitting level in his neighbor’s room. To the right, there’s silence. He tunes out the game show the best he can.

The door on the right opens at half past one in the morning. _Jeopardy!_ has long since made way for infomercials, which was noted but ignored. The noise on the right, however, startles him, and he can’t help but pay attention. 

The sounds start shortly after. 

“Oh, you’re _big,_ ” an airy voice says loudly, fakely.

He holds back a snort, but he’s getting hard anyway, the thought of the second person in the room arousing him despite the horrible acting. Should he go for it? It’s been ages since he was able to make it to the club. He’s poured over this case for hours already, he thinks. It’s time for a break.

There’s a shocked grunt, much deeper than the first voice. 

Malcolm fishes his lube out of his suitcase and sits back on the bed. The slick hand on his cock mixed with the groans next door is heaven after so long. 

“I don’t think this is going to fit,” the woman says coyly. 

He shakes his head and focuses on the man. He imagines he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, just like himself, that the woman is kneeling between his spread legs, one hand on the man’s dick.

“Oh _fuck._ ” The man already sounds wrecked.

Malcolm hums and fists himself faster. It sounds like this won’t last too long, but that’s fine with him. He needs to get back to his case.

“Lean back, handsome.”

In his mind, the woman pushes the man flat on the bed and straddles him. She reaches back and grasps him, guides him in. Malcolm slips a hand under his pajama shirt and pinches, rolls a nipple. 

The woman begins to moan. It’s fake, of course, but the lower moans that intertwine with them get to him.

He grits his teeth as he picks up the pace, waiting for the man next door to cum first. He hisses as he switches nipples.

“ _Oh,_ ” she screams.

“Are you coming?” the man says, breathless, and then — “ _Fuck!_ ”

Pulling on a nipple, Malcolm finishes with a muffled gasp.

## 5

Being back in the city was an experience. He spent so many years trying to forget what his life was like here, trying to make up for the mark his father cut into the world, that he forgot what he actually loved about it. The first few months are still a rollercoaster, but the highs are higher than he expected. He likes being back.

Being back in the Arroyo home was even richer. He loved the city, yes, but Gil’s place was like home to him in ways the Whitly manor hasn’t been in ages. He knows the layout, the smell, the atmosphere. He knows what it’s like to be doing homework in the living room while Gil sings and cooks in the kitchen. Even Jackie’s imprint is still here. There are pictures of her smiling that gorgeous smile all over the shelves. The art on the walls are pieces she picked. He’s happy to see that Gil has maintained her presence without letting the place become a funeral shrine.

So when Malcolm is hurt on a case again, he doesn’t argue with Gil. He lets himself be taken to the man’s home, so that the Lieutenant can make sure he doesn’t overdo it and push back his recovery. He’s glad to be there, even if only for a few nights.

“You know where your room is, kid,” Gil tells him as they walk in the door. He leaves Malcolm’s suitcase in the living room. “I already put new sheets on the bed and pulled out your old restraints. I’m jumping in the shower before dinner.”

“Thanks, Gil.” 

Gil smiles just as handsomely as he did when Malcolm was younger. 

It brings back all of the same old feelings, and he wishes he could be surprised, but really, his attraction to the older man reignited the second he saw him waiting on his first day back. He wheels his suitcase to his unofficial room, taking care with his booted foot. 

Thankfully, he’s already dressed casually. He doesn’t feel like fiddling with a suit. The bed is slightly lumpy, but it’s familiar. He lays back on it with a sigh.

In the bathroom, Gil turns on the shower. The room is sandwiched between the master bedroom and the guest room, so the rush of water is audible in Malcolm’s space. 

He tunes it out. If he doesn’t, it will lead to thoughts of Gil — naked, wet, touching himself. Malcolm shakes his head. The last thing he needs is to walk out to eat with Gil with an erection. 

Then there’s a sound. Something muffled, but obviously a word, obviously the older man’s voice. 

Malcolm frowns. Did he drop something? Slip? Probably not the latter, or there would have been a heavy sound as well. He hesitates, not wanting to barge in on Gil if there’s no reason to.

Another noise, still muffled, and yet… pleased? A moan, too. 

He can feel the heat rise to his cheeks, the stinging flush spreading as the image of Gil in the shower firmly settles in his mind. It’s an amalgamation of his old fantasies and the man’s appearance now. The muscled chest is still there, the strong arms and thick hands, the heavy cock. Now, though, his hair is shot with silver, his eyes more creased. His own dick stirs at the picture. 

Another moan.

Malcolm gets up and closes his door, resuming his place on the bed before pushing his loose pants down far enough to touch himself. Is Gil doing the same? He shuts his eyes and focuses on being quiet. 

Gil says something, still too low to be heard over the water.

In his mind, the Lieutenant has one hand on the back wall of the shower and one gripping his cock. He’s probably imagining Jackie.

So Malcolm thinks of her, too, of his old fantasies of the two of them, of him slotting between them. He has to hold the base of his cock to stop from finishing too fast. He buries his face in his elbow and groans. Okay, he can’t think of both of them now. Not if he wants this to last.

Gil is getting louder. “ _Goddammit_ ,” he says, barely audible through the wall.

Malcolm’s toes curl. When he feels it’s safe, when he’s not on the verge of orgasm anymore, he starts to stroke himself. He wonders what it would feel like if he was in the shower with Gil. He wonders how Gil’s hand would feel on top of his, guiding his movements. Would he stand behind him and reach around to help? Malcolm imagines that thick cock brushing up against his ass as the older man jerks him off. He whimpers. “Fuck.”

There’s a loud bang in the shower. A long, low noise.

It startles him, and before he knows it, he’s shooting cum all over his shirt, catching his chin in the process.

A few minutes later, the water shuts off. Malcolm’s door is open again, and he’s changed into pajamas. 

Gil whistles cheerfully as he exits the bathroom.

## +1

Part of being a Lieutenant in the city, of seeing some horrific shit over the years, is having trouble sleeping. Whether it’s the nightmares or random sounds in the apartment keeping him up, it’s not unusual for Gil to wake up every now and then. He’ll double check for intruders and then go back to bed.

Tonight, he immediately thinks of Malcolm. The profiler is in his old room, sleeping with a boot on for his broken foot. Is he having a nightmare? Gil gets out of bed, yawning, and goes out into the hall. He and Jackie used to do this all the time. He almost opens the door before it registers in his mind just how odd it is that the door is closed. They always had an open door policy, wanting to discourage Malcolm from suffering through his nightmares alone. He supposes the younger man is an adult now, but maybe he scared him off earlier.

A low curse stops him from turning the knob. It’s not an urgent curse.

Malcolm’s voice is clouded with pleasure.

“Gil,” he groans.

When the older man presses his ear against the door, he can hear the whisper of a slick hand working over a hard dick. His eyes close. A grin tugs at his lips. So he _didn’t_ scare the kid off. 

“Fuck, Gil, _please_.” He sounds desperate.

Gil snakes a hand down his boxers and idly strokes himself as he takes in the moans.

The slick sound stops, but Malcolm gasps, obviously having found somewhere else to touch. 

Gil slows his own hand, careful not to make any loud sounds. He shifts his touch down to his balls and gently squeezes.

“Shit.” Soon enough, the rhythmic sounds start up again. 

Gil follows his lead. He thinks about Malcolm spread out on the bed, flushed and wanting and calling out his name.

“Gil, _oh_ …”

He covers his mouth with his free hand to muffle his groan. His other hand is moving, jerking his cock as fast as he dares.

There’s a whine, and then abruptly nothing.

Gil can practically see Malcolm, biting his arm to keep himself silent as he dirties his stomach, his body shaking with both his release and the effort of hiding it. It’s this image that drags him over. He spills in his boxers, his hand still working over his cock until he can’t bear to any longer.

He goes back to his room and pulls on a clean pair of underwear. 

Tomorrow, they’ll talk.


End file.
